


A Cauldron Full Of Hot, Strong Love

by moonyprof



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 08:42:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20043154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonyprof/pseuds/moonyprof
Summary: Where did Ron Weasley's ghastly dress robes come from?  Whose were they?  And why did Ron’s mum send them?  What do Arthur and Molly know about it?





	A Cauldron Full Of Hot, Strong Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slightly AU fic inspired by Ron’s dress robes in the film version of Goblet of Fire. In the book, Molly buys them from a second hand robe shop, and she doesn’t have much choice in the matter because the family is too poor to afford new ones. This isn’t explained in the movie, in which Ron’s horrendous robes are suddenly delivered by owl for no apparent reason. Alternative scenario: These robes have been around the Burrow for some time.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the Burrow while the voice of Celestina Warbeck poured out of the wireless. Molly Weasley frowned slightly. Steam poured from the tip of her wand as she slowly waved it across a set of robes lying on the kitchen table. 

“Well, at least they weren’t filled with moth holes, or infested with Doxies,” she said to herself. “Lucky, really, after being put away in the attic all these years.” Her face softened into a smile, as she remembered the last time she’d seen this particular set of robes. 

The clock in the hall clicked and she glanced up at it. “Goodness! Is that the time?” Four hands pointed to "school," three to "work," but one had moved from "work" to "traveling." Molly hastily pointed her wand at the robes. “Wingardium Leviosa!” The robes leapt up and folded themselves around her face, “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered, beating them back. “Down, you.” The robes obediently lay back down again.

The clock hand clicked to "home." She heard a soft _pop_ just behind her. 

“Guess who?” Arthur Weasley wrapped his long arms around his wife and pressed his cheek to hers. “Miss me?”

She smiled again. She didn’t have to say, “yes, of course.” Instead, she said, “I’m afraid dinner is going to be a bit late. These robes don’t seem to want to behave.” 

Molly turned away from the table. A large three-footed iron pot strolled over to the cooktop, turned it on with one of its feet, and sat down on the little blue flame with a little “ooo.” She tapped the pot and it filled with stock, as root vegetables floated up the cellar stairs and through the air, slowly peeling themselves and jumping one by one into the pot. 

Arthur, meanwhile, was looking down at the robes on the table with a thoughtful expression. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen these,” he said, lifting one long maroon sleeve.

“I got them down from the attic today,” Molly remarked over her shoulder. “I’ve mended them and tried to freshen them up a bit.” 

“You’ve done everything you could do with them,” Arthur said approvingly. “Maybe more. They’re manky old things, aren’t they?”

Molly whirled around. She almost looked angry. “How could you say that? No, I don’t mean that,” she added, “it’s just—I’m fond of these robes.” 

Arthur sat down at the table and grinned at her. “Of course you are,” he said happily. “So am I, if it comes to that. It’s just that—well. Who’s the lucky recipient?”

“Ron, of course. He’s the only one of the boys without dress robes now. They’ve never needed them at Hogwarts before, and of course Bill, Charlie and Percy have their own.” She prodded at the rapidly simmering soup with her wand and then summoned a bread board with brown bread and a bread knife on it over to the table. “Arthur, will you please hang the robes up? I seem to have both hands full.” 

Arthur draped the dress robes carefully over a chair back, summoned some dishes, and began to set the table. The knife began to slice off thick slices of the bread, stacking it neatly on the bread board. He asked, “what about Fred and George? Are they taken care of? I could pick up some robes for them on my lunch hour, only money’s a bit tight at the moment,” he said doubtfully.

“That won’t be necessary,” Molly said, a bit too brightly. “We had a perfect matched set in the attic for them, too.”

“Fabian and Gideon’s?”

“Yes.” Molly cleared her throat and poked at the soup unnecessarily. The domestic cheerfulness of the room was gone, as though it had been suddenly sucked out.

Arthur looked uncomfortable. He _felt_ uncomfortable. They never talked about Molly’s twin brothers, Fabian and Gideon Prewett, not since they had died in the war. It had been sixteen years, and Molly still choked up whenever anyone mentioned them. _Funny_, thought Arthur, _I always thought of them as so jolly. If they were here, they probably would be setting off Dungbombs and causing some right old mayhem. I’d better change the subject._

A new song came over the wireless.

“_Oh, come and stir my cauldron,_

_And if you do it right,_

_I’ll boil you up some hot strong love_

_To keep you warm tonight. . .”_

_Ah, good_, Arthur thought, _the best possible thing_. “Listen, Mollywobbles!” he said aloud. “Isn’t that our song?” He pulled her away from the soup pot and began dancing her across the stone flagging. “Oh come and something something, hmm, tum tee um tee tay. . .I don’t remember the rest of the words dee doo de doo de dee. . . “

Molly smiled and made a sound that was suspiciously like a giggle. “You _are _silly,” she said fondly. She pushed at him, but not away. Not quite. “Ooops. Burning.” She fled back to the stove and turned the flame off. “Happy days,” she said reminiscently. “I loved seeing your old robes again.” 

“They clashed horribly with my hair then, too,” he began.

“Oh, shush,” Molly said, cutting him off and ladling the soup into two bowls. “They looked lovely on you, everyone said so.” She looked up at him, smiling. “I certainly thought so. And they’ll be just right on Ron. I’m sure he’s going to be just your height, and if they looked lovely on you, they’ll look lovely on him.”

“I just hope Ron’s not as hopeless and stupid about girls as I was.”

“You were a late bloomer.”

“A late bloomer? Bloomer’s the word for it; I never stopped making bloomers. I kept looking at you and thinking: _right, now I’ll say something_, and then all the sap went right out of me and I’d just go re-wire another plug.”

“Well, I got you to see sense in the end, didn’t I?” said Molly reasonably, sitting down at the table. “I just had to be a bit firm.” She clicked off the wireless and they ate their soup together in a warm, companionable silence. 

“Happy days,” he said, echoing her earlier thought. “Dreadful of me, I know, but there are evenings when I am glad that all the kids have gone off to school.” He put his hand over hers and smiled, looking straight into her eyes. “Dumm dum dee dee. . . “

“I just wish I could see them on Ron,” she said, in a last attempt to stick to the subject, and then Arthur changed the line of conversation altogether.

* * *

Ron Weasley stared at himself in the mirror, eyes wide with horror. _Maroon! It’s always maroon, isn’t it? _He took in the entire picture, wincing as he registered every hideous detail. The ruffly dicky. The loud vest. The fat velvet bowtie. The dodgy little collar. The lace! That disgusting, poncy, three-toned lace! What was Mum thinking? What did I do to deserve this?

“Murder me, Harry.”


End file.
